


The Hidden Bias

by Keri T (Keri_1006)



Series: Episodes [4]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s01e04 Death Ride | Hellride, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 01:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keri_1006/pseuds/Keri%20T
Summary: Missing scene from Death Ride.





	The Hidden Bias

**Author's Note:**

> This is part four in the Episodes series.

 

Hutch was annoyed with himself and his fellow detectives, but he kept his eyes on the file in front of him so he wouldn't give that fact away. Was he curious? Sure. Was he anxious? Maybe a little, but unlike all these fools in the squad room he was going to remain professional.

He removed a paper from the file and held it up to the light, which enabled him to get a subtle look at the room. The fools had an actual sentry! He was guarding the door with the straight-backed, hawk-eyed demeanor of a man in the military preventing enemy troops from making an incursion. Hutch shook his head and felt a serious desire to yell at the fool that he was a detective, not a sentry, but Starsky was so intent on his task that Hutch knew he would be ignored even if he yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Give me a little room, Johnson,” Starsky stage-whispered to the man practically plastered to his back. “I’ll tell you when I see him.”

“I need time to get out of here, Starsky!” Johnson shot back, and Hutch noted he remained on top of his partner with three other detectives, currently assuming the role of supporting fools, right behind him. It was a train of fools.

Hutch decided it was probably time for him to say something, not because he wanted Starsky, the head fool, to have any breathing room, but because it was time for a reasoned opinion. “You know, Johnson, you can leave right now; no one's holding a gun to your head.” There, Hutch thought, that was a reasoned opinion. “You really don’t have to wait until Starsky tells you the captain is about to enter the squad room.”

Johnson, a middle-aged fifteen-year veteran of the department with a serious crew cut, didn’t even have the decency to turn around and look at Hutch. “You crazy or something, Hutchinson? Starsky, is your partner crazy?”

“Sometimes,” Starsky said. “Give him a minute; it usually passes.”

“Just like a kidney stone,” Hutch said. “Thanks, partner, I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome,” Starsky said, still using that annoying stage whisper and, like Johnson, he didn’t turn his head as he spoke, either. “You know, Johnson and the rest of us just wanna get a look at the captain’s face so we can see how it went. And you should stop pretendin’ you’re not every bit as interested as we are. This is big.”

Hutch had a vague memory of his granddad once pontificating on the uselessness of arguing with fools or drunks, and since his partner wasn’t usually foolish and was not currently drunk, he decided to ask one point of clarification in a non-argumentative tone and then drop it. “And seeing his face in the hallway is going to be different than seeing his face when he comes in here?”

“You drive me crazy sometimes, Hutch, I hope you know that…of course it’ll be different. He had to oversee the arrest of his own secretary and now he’s meeting with the chief about the whole mess. He’ll have his boss face on when he comes in here, but his natural, unhidden emotions will show when he’s in the hallway and we’ll know what level of angry he may or may not be.”

Hutch couldn’t let that drop. “Captain Dobey? You actually think Captain Dobey hides how he’s feeling from us? Are you actually saying we don’t know when he’s pissed or hungry or tired or frustrated? Is that really what you’re saying, Starsk?”

“This is different,” Starsky said stubbornly. “This isn’t a usual day and did you finish cleaning our desk? I don’t want the captain to come in here and see a messy desk.”

Hutch looked at the piles of folders, case records, court notifications, and general clutter that always lived on their desk, and did a token straightening of the stacks, but didn’t remove anything. “Starsky, our desk looks the way it always looks, and this is our work. It has to stay here, so we can actually, you know, work on it.”

“Shut up, Hutch,” Starsky said. “Everybody, that’s him, I see him coming.”

Hutch shook his head as the room went silent. It was so quiet that he could hear someone’s stomach rumbling with either nerves or hunger. It was probably hunger, he decided. It was probably Starsky’s stomach.

“Starsky,” Hutch refused to use anything but a normal tone of voice. “Are you hungry?”

“Shush…oh, shit. Everybody, get off me now, find something to do.” Starsky started physically elbowing his way through the men and was soon at the desk.

“How pissed is he, Starsky?” Johnson asked, after he’d positioned himself at one of the file cabinets.

“He’s not pissed,” Starsky answered. “Don’t worry about it, Hutch was right. No big deal, just work.”

After a few seconds, the volume in the room regained its normal hum, as all the men found something to do. Starsky sat in his chair across from Hutch and wore an unreadable expression but he did lock eyes on Hutch.

“Starsk, what?” Hutch asked. “Didn’t he look okay?”

Starsky used the whisper he used on the street, the one that was for Hutch’s ears only and not the fake stage-whisper. “No, he doesn’t look okay.”

“Not pissed? Not frustrated?” Hutch was baffled by what _not okay_ actually meant. “Tell me what you mean.”

“He looks hurt,” Starsky said, and gave Hutch a long look, and his expression made Hutch swallow. “Like he’s been punched in the heart or somethin’.”

Hutch whistled softly. “We weren’t expecting that. Do you think—?”

Captain Dobey entered the squad room before Hutch could finish his sentence. Hutch glanced at him as he made his way into his private office with barely a nod to his staff. Hutch didn’t see hurt on the captain’s face; he saw grim inscrutability. Hutch waited until the office door had closed softly. “I didn’t see hurt, Starsk,” he said quietly. “Are you sure it was there?”

“It was there,” Starsky said seriously. “Something went down at that meeting.” Starsky shifted his gaze to the captain’s closed office door. “I think we should go check on him.”

Once again, Hutch marveled at the myriad of complex emotions that made up his partner’s personality. Gone was the overly-exaggerated pretense of determining Dobey’s mood—half, Hutch knew, for the enjoyment of their fellow detectives—and in its place was the mature, compassionate reveries of a damn good man. “Well, if you saw what you say you saw, we probably should. Maybe we should give him a few minutes?”

“Yeah, maybe. Not too long, though. He’s hurtin’.” Starsky went to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. He held the pot up. “You want some?”

“Half a cup, thanks.”

Starsky carried both mugs to the desk but didn’t sit down again. Standing at Hutch's side, he asked, “What file are you working on?”

“Witness list for the B&E in that fancy apartment complex on—”

“Lemon Lane,” Starsky supplied. “Good. That’ll give us a reason to go in there. We can show the captain the list and let him know we think it might tie into our murder at that market on—”

“Bridgestone, and when did we come up with that idea?” Hutch demanded. “The locations are miles apart. We never put that together—”

“I just did,” Starsky interrupted. “So, if I did, you did, right?”

Hutch sighed. “Right. Okay, that’ll get us in there, but you lead.”

“Don’t I always?” The smirk Starsky gave him completely justified the smack Hutch delivered to his belly. “Ouch. Some guys just can’t take the truth.”

“Will you get going!” Hutch grabbed the file and his mug and followed Starsky to the office door.

Starsky rapped twice and then opened the door a crack. “You got a minute for me and Hutch, Cap’n? We’ve got a hunch on our murder from last week we wanted to run by you.”

“Yesterday you told me there were no leads,” Dobey said, and nodded at them to come in. He rubbed his eyes and straightened his tie. “What did you turn this morning?”

“It’s not so much what we turned,” Starsky answered while seating himself. “It’s this hunch, like I said…wait, why don’t I let Hutch explain.” Starsky waved Hutch into the room and kicked the empty chair next to the one he was sitting in. “Hutch?”

Hutch contemplated the different forms of revenge he would exact on Starsky’s ass while he walked the few steps to where his stupidly smiling partner and his glum captain were sitting waiting for him to pull some hunch out of thin air. He cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee, hoping inspiration would strike. When no stroke of genius landed, he put his cup down on the captain’s desk, sat himself down, and made a pretense of ruffling the single sheet of paper in the folder he held. “Well, Captain, we have this witness list here—”

“You created a witness list for the Bridgestone murder?” Dobey asked, his tone unmistakably doubtful. “How did you do that when there were no witnesses at the scene and you don’t have any leads?”

“Uh, yeah, well…” Hutch stumbled and gave Starsky a desperate look, then ruffled his piece of paper again, hoping the ruffling would turn it into something he could use.

“Isn’t that the witness list for the Lemon Lane B&E, Hutch?” Starsky asked smoothly. “He’s been working really hard on that, Cap’n.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Starsky—it’s good when my men work hard—but I don’t know what the Lemon Lane break in has to do with your murder case, so could one of you please fill me in?” Dobey asked, his tone too calm and patient for Hutch’s liking.

“Starsky, weren’t you taking the lead on this one?” Hutch didn’t care if his partner wasn’t ready to catch the ball, he passed it anyway. “Something about—”

“Okay, you two, that’s enough,” Dobey said. “What are you playin’ at? Why’re you in my office?”

Hutch glanced at Starsky who gave him a raised chin in response, then Starsky said simply, “We wanted to see how it went downtown. Me and Hutch were hopin’ everything’s okay?”

Dobey put his arms across his stomach and sighed quietly. “No, everything is not okay, but it’s nothing you two need to be concerned with or anything that will affect you. You can get back to real work now.”

“Captain, if it affects the department or it affects you, well, Starsky and I think that affects us, too,” Hutch said. “Maybe we could help?”

“I appreciate that, Hutchinson, but there’s nothing either of you can do. Hell, there’s nothing I can do. I just have to accept it.” Dobey sounded and looked defeated.

“Accept what, sir?” Starsky asked. “Did they decide not to continue the case against Terry Evers? Don’t tell me they’re dropping the charges? We caught her red-handed!”

“Starsky’s right, Captain,” Hutch said. “That sting was letter-perfect. We didn’t even bend the law. What’s the chief trying to pull?”

“You’re both jumping to the wrong conclusions,” Dobey said. “And not, I might add, for the first time!”

Starsky caught Hutch’s eye and Hutch noted he looked slightly chastised, the same way Hutch was feeling, but he was glad to hear some authority back in Dobey’s voice. “Just tell us, sir, so we’ll stop guessing. What’s the real story with Evers?”

“We’re proceeding full speed with all charges against Miss Evers,” Dobey answered. “In fact, the D.A. is throwing in conspiracy to commit murder just for good measure.”

Starsky whistled. “She’ll be lucky to get off with fifteen to twenty-five. Wonder if she thinks that fancy car was still worth it?”

Hutch nodded in agreement. “So, what’s the problem? Evers is going to take a hard fall and the department no longer has a spy to worry about. What more could the brass want?”

The captain sighed again and rubbed his temples. “It’s 10:25 in the morning and I’m exhausted. Ever had a few tough hours make you feel like you’ve pulled two doubles in a row?”

Hutch and Starsky glanced at each other again, but said nothing as they waited for their boss to continue.

“What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this office, do you both understand?” Dobey demanded and went on without a response. “I shouldn’t be saying a word—honestly I’m pretty damn embarrassed—but I trust you two and I need to practice talking about this…situation…before I have to go home and explain it to my wife.”

“What do you have to be embarrassed about, Cap’n?” Starsky asked. “You handled a complicated protected witness exchange, dealt with the feds, dealt with me and Hutch when we were pretty pissed, arranged the sting, and busted Terry Evers! That sounds like a solid day’s work to me.”

“Thank you, Starsky,” Dobey said, and then cleared his throat lightly. “But you’re forgetting one thing that my superiors have not forgotten.”

“What are we forgetting?” Hutch asked.

“That I was the one who hired Terry Evers,” Dobey said, and the defeat was back in his voice. “I hired her, I gave her the run of my private office, and I never noticed the criminal activity she was conducting every day not ten feet from me.”

“Shit,” Starsky murmured, then with a guilty look said, “sorry, sir, that just slipped out.  I guess I never thought of things that way. I don’t see how you can carry all the blame, though.”

“Neither do I,” Hutch said. “Okay, you hired her, but she was a pro…she knew how to get through the hiring process and to convince us all, every one of us, that she was a good secretary. How can they hold you responsible?”

“They can do any damn thing they want to do, Hutchinson. That’s something you and your partner should never forget. I’ll always do my best to have your backs, and I believe in our system of law and order and want you to always work within its confines…but never forget when push comes to shove…” Dobey stopped talking, then took a breath and went on. “That’s the wrong message to send my men. I apologize. Just do your jobs the same as you always have. I don’t think you’ll fall into the kind of situations I deal with.”

Hutch and Starsky shared another glance before Hutch spoke up. “You’re talking about something different than you being a captain—senior management—dealing with things that would never come up for us, aren’t you, Cap’n?”

“Yes, I am, but like I said it’s not something that will ever kick either one of you in the teeth.” Dobey leaned forward and laid his arms on his desk, both fists clenched. “It’s my issue. And the real issue here is that I did hire that woman—that criminal—so maybe this time they’re justified in coming down on me this hard.”

“What are they tryin’ to pull, Cap’n?” Starsky asked. “And I don’t get the issue thing. What’re your issues that are different from cops like me and Hutch?”

Dobey smiled briefly, then a hard expression came over his face. He raised a hand in the air. “What do you see on my hand, Starsky?”

Hutch followed Starsky’s gaze to Dobey’s raised and open hand. There was nothing on it, but all at once the issue was clear to him and his stomach did a little roil since the issue was sickening. He answered for his partner. “Your hand is a different color than our hands, sir.”

“Now that’s being a good detective, Hutch,” Dobey said. “Not letting yourself be blinded by what feels natural and ordinary to you since you see it every day. I’m a different color than you two. I’m a different color than everybody in the chief’s office. I’m a black man.”

Starsky looked stunned. “Your issue is racism? Are you sayin’ the brass are bigots, Cap’n? ’Cause if you’re saying that I’ll take my badge downtown to them right this stinkin’ minute and tell them where they can shove it!”

Hutch laid his hand on Starsky’s forearm and felt the tendons there corded with tension. He knew Starsky was mortally offended by bigots. It was one of the few things that could bring him to blinding rage in an instant and this wasn’t the first time he had to step in and try to cool that rage down. “Starsk, easy, huh? Go easy. We haven’t heard everything the captain has to say.”

“He said bigots, Hutch! We’re workin’ for fuckin’ bigots, sorry, Cap’n, but bigots!” Starsky pulled his arm out from under Hutch’s hand and gripped his knees. “Not sure why you’re not as pissed as I am, partner.”

Knowing Starsky’s anger was now directed at him made Hutch feel defensive. “I never said I wasn’t pissed, Starsky, and you’re not giving me a chance to digest any of this before you start going off—”

“Simmer down, both of you,” Dobey said loudly, “and Starsky I never said bigots or racism. Not once. Let’s be very clear on that!” Dobey stared at both of them hard enough to make Hutch squirm.

“So, this isn’t about you being black?” Starsky asked. “Then what’s going on? Why did you walk in here looking like your dog had been hit by a truck?”

“I don’t have a dog, Starsky,” Dobey said. “And I’m sorry if I came in the squad looking anything less than professional. I can’t afford to do that—ever—both because I’m the captain _and_ because I’m black.” Dobey leaned back in his chair and Hutch thought he looked nervous, but in a second he continued. “I’ve said too much. This isn’t a topic I ever discuss outside of my home, but you two have always felt like more than employees…” He coughed lightly and then went on. “Being black in this department, in this city, in this time will always have challenges. A black man has to try a little harder. Be a little better. Accept a certain amount of…” Dobey looked right at Starsky “… _shit_ that a white man would never have to swallow. None of it is as simple as flat-out prejudice. Flat-out prejudice is something you can see and hear and feel. It has an odor. This is different, subtler.”

Hutch was torn between feeling honored that their boss was sharing such a personal part of himself with them, and feeling stupid that he hadn’t known this about Dobey without having to be told. He tried to find something to say that would convey the respect he had for this man but his tongue was tied and he knew he’d stutter if he tried to speak. His partner had no such qualms.

“But, Captain, you’re the _captain_!” Starsky said passionately. “The captain of detectives! It’s a big deal to hold that high of a position, so how could anyone not think you’ve earned every—”

“Starsky,” Dobey interrupted. “Stop! You of all people shouldn’t sound so naïve.”

Hutch nodded at Starsky who had stopped talking but was looking completely perplexed by Dobey’s words. “He means because you’re Jewish, Starsk.”

“I don’t think I was sounding naïve at all,” Starsky said. “And me being Jewish—well, it’s not like I wear a yarmulke to work every day. I’m harder to peg than a black person, but bigotry sure as hell impacted the lives of a lot of my family.”

Hutch sucked in a breath, knowing just how deeply some members of Starsky’s family had been impacted by racism and wondered if Starsky was going to share any of that with Dobey. It was something he seldom mentioned, even to him. “Starsk—"

Starsky interrupted him. “The point I was trying to make is that the captain here climbed to the top in spite of being black. He earned that, and no matter if some people downtown are _subtle_ bigots or not, no one can deny he earned his spot at the top.”

“I’m not at the top, Starsky,” Dobey said. “I’m not denying that I have a senior position, but I don’t see myself climbing any higher.”

That startled Hutch. “Did you want to move up further, sir? I thought you were happy here.”

“I am happy, Hutchinson. I love my job, my men, but, yes, I wanted to move up the chain of command. However, I always suspected that getting up that next rung on the ladder would be hard. But after this morning—they’ve made it clear it’s off the table entirely. At least for the foreseeable future. Had my eye on a promotion, too. My wife will be—disappointed. And the rec I put in for a new secretary has been denied. Who knows when they’ll let me hire someone. I’ll be the only captain in the building without administrative support.”

Hutch blew out a breath and considered how to respond to that, but Starsky beat him to it. “Because of what happened with Terry Evers, or because you’re black?” Hutch noted the stubborn jut of his chin and wondered if Dobey saw it, too.

Dobey didn’t answer his question, instead swiveled his chair and pointed to the wall where several framed diplomas were displayed. “Neither of you have probably ever looked at those closely, have you?”

Starsky shook his head in the negative, but Hutch nodded. “I have, Captain. You’re very well educated.”

“Yeah, I am,” Dobey said. “It took me two years of applying to get on the force at all—finally made it in ’52. Then I entered the academy and found out no one would room with me. No one would eat with me. No one would have a damn thing to do with me, except for the ones who made sure I knew every waking minute that they wanted me gone and didn’t care if I left in a body bag.”

“Jesus, Cap’n—”

Dobey held up a hand and Starsky didn’t finish his sentence. “It just made me more determined. There were only two other men in my class who had a four-year degree like I did. I knew I was better educated than most of them. I knew I was smart. And most important of all, I knew I was tough. They weren’t going to break me.”

“You only got in at all because you had your degree, I’m guessing,” Hutch said. “Even though a four-year degree wasn’t a requirement then or now.”

“Good thing for you, partner, because I’m a little short on degrees right now,” Starsky said with a smile for Hutch.

Hutch smiled back, but then turned to Dobey again. “Captain? Am I right?”

“No one ever said, but I’ve always thought that was the case,” Dobey answered. “There was some noise starting up in those days that the force needed to have more minorities working the poor sections, the ones where violence can be a way of life. Even if they recognized the good that might do for those communities—to have some black and brown faces walking their streets and getting to know the people—it didn’t mean they weren’t going to try and find the ‘smart ones’ to not sully up their lily-white departments too badly.”

Hutch knew that Dobey intended his last comment to be sarcastic, but just as Starsky had seen the sadness on Dobey’s face earlier, Hutch saw it now. Raw pain. Raw sadness. Enough to bring a lump to Hutch’s throat. “That just stinks. It just stinks.” Hutch couldn’t say anymore just then.

“Big John Blaine told me some of that, but nothing as bad as you’ve described, Cap’n. I know he would have had your back if you’d a been in the same class.”

Hutch smiled at the mention of Starsky’s teenaged hero, a man who had a lot to do with Starsky joining the police department in the first place.

“I believe that, Starsky. John is a good man, and a good cop. He’s someone I’m proud to call my friend,” Dobey said.

Starsky nodded, then asked, “How long did you walk a beat?”

“Seven years,” Dobey answered. “Of course, I made detective in the fourth year. My arrest record was too good for them to deny me that promotion, but they kept me on a beat anyway. It took me another three years to make sergeant, although I’d passed the damn exam my third year.” Dobey shook his head and rubbed his chin slowly. “Seems like a long time ago now.”

“Lieutenant came next?” Hutch asked.

“Yes, after I had my master’s degree in criminology—a lot of night school to get that. From there things started to move a little more smoothly, but there have always been a lot of bumps, too.”

Everyone was quiet for a minute, and then Dobey cleared his throat again, more loudly this time. “Well, that’s enough of that. I appreciate the two of you…listening to me, but I want you both to remember that even though I might be paying a higher price for my mistake than a white man, it was still _my_ mistake. I didn’t see what she was up to, and I have to live with that. Thank God the outcome wasn’t worse than it was.”

“You stopped her, sir,” Hutch said. “You should live with that, too.”

Dobey nodded. “Now get out of my office. I’m sure the two of you have work to do, and I know I do.”

“Um, actually, we were off a couple of hours ago, Cap’n,” Starsky said and stood up. “Me and Hutch worked all night. Get up, Hutch.”

Hutch shot a look of annoyance at Starsky, but stood up anyway. “He’s right, sir. We’re off now and not on the schedule for tomorrow, but if you need us…” Hutch moved quickly enough to avoid the kick Starsky was trying to deliver to his shin.

“What I need is not to pay overtime, so both of you please go home… and thanks.”

Starsky gave their captain a wink and Hutch gave him a nod before they left the office.

~*~*~

Hutch got into the Torino with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry I didn’t take my car to work yesterday, Starsk. It’s out of your way to take me home and you’re probably tired.”

The driver’s side door closed with a decisive click as Starsky settled himself and started the ignition. “Where the hell is that comin’ from? I pick you up and take you home at least three times a week because I like it that way.” Starsky smoothly exited the parking garage. “Besides, even though I know you love that squash of yours, bouncing around between the newspapers, oranges—I’ll never understand why you keep fruit in your car—and other assorted items has never been what I’d call a good time. I prefer driving.”

“I have oranges in my car?” Hutch asked. “That’s weird, I thought I had apples.”

Starsky shook his head. “My only question has to be why do you have _any_ fruit in your car at all?”

“Because fruit is good for us—we need the vitamins and minerals, to say nothing of the natural sugars…gives us energy.”

“Hutch, I’ve never eaten one of your car oranges and I’m never gonna. No need to stock them for me.”

“Never is a long time, Starsk. What if we’re on a stake out with no other food available?”

“And we’re in your car on this stake out? Just shoot me, because I’ve obviously lost my mind if that ever happens.”

“You lose your mind all the time, and I’ve managed to avoid shooting you so far. I can probably hold out, but I got the message—no fruit.”

“No fruit,” Starsky confirmed firmly. “But what are we eating for lunch? Do you wanna stop somewhere?”

“Not really. I’ve got salad stuff at my place and I’m sure I can find something disgusting for you in one of my cupboards.”

“We’re not going to your place,” Starsky said. “We’re going to my place and I don’t have any salad stuff. I have tuna, though. You can have a tuna sandwich; you like those.”

“My car is at my place,” Hutch protested. “You’ll have to do even more driving if we go to your place first.”

“Would you quit worrying about how much I’m driving? I swear, sometimes you get obsessed with the stupidest things.”

“You’re lucky to have a partner who worries about you!” Hutch said. “Would you prefer it if I didn’t give a shit?”

“No, but it’s not me you’re worried about. It’s Dobey.” Starsky gave Hutch a knowing look. “Your brain is going a mile a minute under all that blondness and you’re trying to process the stuff he said and subjugating all that worry on me and my excellent driving.”

“Sublimating,” Hutch said. “You think I’m sublimating my feelings about what Dobey just said on to you, but I’m not.”

“Yes, you are and that’s what I said—sublimating.”

“You said subjugating, which means I’m trying to defeat you or overpower you.”

“Ha!” Starsky said. “Love to see you try. The day you think you can take me down—they’ll sell tickets to that wipe out! You won’t know what hit you.”

“Starsky, give the macho bluster a rest, wouldya?” Hutch shook his head and slapped Starsky’s thigh. “I promise I won’t try and subjugate you today.”

“I don’t think you’re using that word right,” Starsky said. “Sounds like it needs something else to go with it.”

“You think?” Hutch said while massaging his temples. “ _I_ think I need an aspirin to go along with this conversation.”

“Are you sublimenting again?”

“Sublimating!” Hutch said loudly. “And you know it, you just said it correctly two seconds ago! I think you’re trying to get under my skin.”

“Well, are you?”

“Starsk, all I’m doing is thinking…that was a heavy conversation. It never crossed my mind that Dobey—our captain—deals with racism even today. I mean, maybe with certain members of the public, sure, but in the police department? One he’s served for decades…it just never crossed my mind.”

“Never crossed my mind, either,” Starsky confessed. “And it makes me feel pretty dense, too. But he’s the _captain_. I guess I always assumed he was gettin’ all the respect due him, from the rank and file _and_ the brass.” They were quiet for a few miles before Starsky spoke again. “We’ve both noticed some of our brother cops being—curt with him now and again, though.”

Hutch nodded. “Yeah, we have, but we didn’t think that was because of his race, but about him just being the boss and giving the orders. After all, not everyone loves being told what to do as much as we do.”

That cracked them both up and they enjoyed the first real laugh of the day, then sobered simultaneously. “I think we can safely say we’ve been wrong, partner,” Starsky said. “We’ll have to watch his back more closely from now on.”

“We can do that,” Hutch agreed. “We do it for Huggy.”

“We’ve witnessed the bigoted shit that’s gotten thrown at Huggy, though. No mystery there.”

“True,” Hutch said, “but we’ve been able to stop a few things before they ever turned into…incidents with Huggy.”

“Not that he’ll ever know about those times,” Starsky said, turning his head in Hutch’s direction just long enough to lock eyes before he turned back to the road. “Huggy believes there’s nothing happening anywhere that he can’t handle, and he’s had to handle a lot his whole life. Don’t think he’d appreciate knowin’ we keep an eye on him. It’d bruise his ego.”

“That would be a lot of ego to bruise,” Hutch said. “So, we’ll keep on being careful.”

“Bigots,” Starsky said. “It’s really messed up that good people like Huggy and Dobey still have to deal with bigots in 1975.”

Neither said anything else as Starsky drove the final few blocks to his apartment and parked the car.

~*~*~

The tidy, colorful apartment was cool and quiet as they entered. Hutch took off his jacket and holster with a grateful sigh and watched Starsky do the same. They hung them in the closet and gravitated toward the kitchen and the beer.

“Guess we’re gonna day drink today," Hutch said, taking the frosty bottle from Starsky’s outstretched hand and moving to the couch in the living room.

“It’s not really day drinking when you’ve worked all night,” Starsky said before joining Hutch on the couch. “It’s just regular drinking with sunshine."

Hutch opened his bottle and clinked it lightly against Starsky’s. “When your logic works, it works. And under normal circumstances you having a bright apartment that gets all this sun is a good thing…” Hutch squinted a little and rubbed his free hand across his eyes. “But right now, it’s a little too bright in here. Can we close some of the blinds?”

“Sure,” Starsky said. He set his bottle on the coffee table and quickly moved through the room, lowering all the blinds and then returned to Hutch. “Better?”

“Thanks, yeah, that’s better,” Hutch said, stretching his legs out and lifting his beer to his lips.

“I can make it even better still,” Starsky said, and removed the beer from Hutch’s hand. “Just give me a second.” He headed for the kitchen.

“Hey! Where’re you taking my beer?”

“I’m just making a little exchange,” Starsky said. The sound of cupboards opening and closing and then the refrigerator door opening and closing reached Hutch’s ears. When Starsky came back he was holding a glass of what looked like ice tea and a bottle of aspirin. “Here you go. Aspirin and alcohol don’t mix, so let’s let the aspirin knock your headache out and then you can have your beer back later.”

Since he _did_ have a headache and wanted to take the aspirin, Hutch only made a token protest. “Later? It’ll be warm and flat later.”

“I capped it and put it in the fridge. But if you’re nice, I bet you can talk me into getting you a cold, fresh one.”

“Ha, ha… hey, I never said I had a headache,” Hutch said. “How’d you know?”

“What? Is this my first day on the job? I always know when you have a headache.”

That made Hutch smile. Before Starsky, no one had ever known when he had a headache, or if he wanted to be quiet because he was thinking, or if he wanted to be talkative because he was upset, or any of the other hundreds of things that Starsky knew without Hutch needing to say a word. It was just one of the things that made his relationship with Starsky so special. The thought made him happy, but then Dobey flashed in his mind and his happiness faded. He couldn’t imagine anyone like Starsky ever being in Dobey’s work life—or personal life—there was only one Starsky and Hutch had him. Thankfully, Dobey did have a loving wife and family and that was something solid to come home to every day. He did hope there had been someone on the job, though… “Starsk?”

Starsky was kicking his shoes off, but he looked up at Hutch. “Yeah?”

“Do you think Dobey’s ever worked with a friend—a real friend?”

“You mean like us?”

That made Hutch smile, too. “No, not like us, but still close, you know? Someone who really understood him?”

“He must’ve had a partner or two on the way up, right?” Starsky asked. “I hope he was at least friendly with those guys… I mean, you don’t think they made him work a beat in those tough neighborhoods all alone, do you?”

Hutch hadn’t considered that. “I hope not, Starsk. There’s racism and then there’s flat out callous disregard for human life.”

“I kind of doubt racists care much about the sanctity of human life,” Starsky said. “You heard what the captain said about his time in the academy…some of them wanted him dead.”

“He had a lot of courage to stay and fight for a spot on the force,” Hutch said. “A whole lot of courage. It gives you a new insight on the kind of courage everyone who has to fight for rights you and I take for granted has to have.”

 “Who is ‘everyone’ you’re referrin’ to?” Starsky took a long gulp of beer and settled a pillow behind his head.

“Well, what about the Mexican population? We see plenty of prejudice directed toward them and other Latinos. How many times have we heard some asshole call them wet-backs or greasers? Or any immigrants really, like the Koreans and Vietnamese we deal with, or other Asians. Then there’s the way society treats women—”

“Who doesn’t love women?” Starsky asked. “Especially the ones that are soft and stacked.”

“You know, Starsk, there are days I swear you could give Bobby Riggs a run for his money.”

“No doubt,” Starsky said and grinned. “My tennis game is much better than his.”

 “So, we’re done having a serious conversation?” Hutch asked. “Is it time for lunch?”

“That’s your headache making you say pissy things, so I’ll rise above it…and besides that, I know you’re hurtin’ about Dobey and so am I, but Hutch we’re not gonna cure racism here in my living room. That shit has been going on since the beginning of time. Some people just wanna hate, and their hatred makes them feel superior.”  

Hutch rolled that thought around for a moment and felt its accuracy. “Yeah, you’re right. I think you’re right! Bigots want to feel superior and they’re too stupid to know they’re the most inferior people on earth.”

Starsky gave him a sweet smile. “That’s the truth, babe, and people like you and me? Well, we just gotta keep doing what we’re doing in our piece of the world—keep our eyes open.”

Hutch nodded and took a sip of his drink, then Starsky continued. “And getting back to discrimination against women, you know I come from a working mother—I want to see women get paid fairly, too.”

Hutch sighed. “I think their issues are about more than money, but that would be a good start.” Even though he knew that he and Starsky agreed about outright bigots, Hutch still wasn't ready to let go of the larger issue. “There’s other groups who don’t have the rights they should have, though.”

“Like who?”

“Gay people,” Hutch answered, and held his breath.

“Gay people?” Starsky sat up a little straighter and took another sip of his beer. “In the swingin’ seventies we’re all enjoying? They have their own bars right out in the open—not those sad underground places they used to have to go to. I heard there’s even some restaurants now that cater just to them. I know it’s probably not an easy life, but you don’t think they face the same discrimination a black person does, do you?”

“I’d say it’s probably different, but still discrimination, Starsk,” Hutch said. “Think about it. Unless a gay person has a job in a pretty liberal field they probably have to hide who they are at work. What about their families? At least black people are accepted and loved in their own families—but a gay person? Remember that call we had last month where the father was beating the crap out of his kid?”

“The skinny teenaged boy?” Starsky asked. “We talked to him; he said his dad was pissed about some fender-bender and he wouldn’t press charges. He wasn’t gay.”

“He was gay, Starsk.”

“How d’ya know?”

“I just do, okay?”

Starsky gave him a long slow look. “Okay. And you’re probably right; some of them must have it rough with their families—if they’re dumb enough to tell their families.”

That took the breath out of Hutch’s lungs and he took a moment to respond.  “You think it’s dumb for someone to tell the truth about who they really are, and not incredibly brave?”

“I think it’s incredibly dumb,” Starsky said. “They should keep their private lives private, and be safe and as happy as they can be. Why stir up a hornet’s nest? Not everyone wants to participate in the sexual revolution and not everyone wants to know—especially about someone in their own family—that not everyone is only having sex in the missionary position with someone they’re legally married to with the lights off.” Starsky gave a light laugh but there was no humor in it. “The world’s not ready, partner.”

“You paint a pretty grim picture,” Hutch said. “Pretty damn bleak.” Starsky’s words started a familiar burning sensation in his stomach, and all at once he was fourteen again and feeling that burn for the first time when one of his friends referred to a fellow student—a shy, bespectacled youth—as a faggot. Up until that moment he hadn’t known how venom-filled a word could be or how much hatred it could carry. Now, here he was all grown up and the feelings were still the same as when he was fourteen. Just when the hell _would_ the world be ready?   

His partner was looking at him a little sadly. “Sorry,” Starsky said, “but I know what I know, too—”

“Yeah, but—”

“Let me finish, Hutch,” Starsky said seriously. “I know what you’re feeling right now and what you’re thinking, but being gay has nothing to do with us. We’re not gay.”

Something inside of Hutch wanted to break apart and release all the acid his stomach was producing. Something inside was screaming to be heard and it took tremendous effort to speak in a normal volume. “We just like to occasionally have sex with each other and the fact that we’re both male doesn’t hold any significance for you?” Hutch hoped his incredulity wasn’t obvious in his tone.

“No, it’s more than that but it doesn’t make us gay.” Starsky picked up Hutch’s hand before he continued. “This is where it’s at for me: you’re my partner—I don’t expect to ever have another one. You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I don’t expect to have another one of those, either. And we’ve got this thing between us. I don’t know what it is, I just know we have it. We work this intense job. We live intense lives. Lives that can be cut short at any time. And we’ve got all this love for each other—for me, sometimes, it all boils up and I have to—get physical with you. It’s like a release or something. I feel this—I have to touch you and you have to be naked. It’s raw, it’s intense—it’s _wonderful_. But it’s not gay. It’s just because you’re you, I'm me, and we’re _us_.”

Hutch swallowed a few times and willed the acid in his stomach to ease back. He processed everything Starsky had just said and gave his hand a squeeze, knowing that was a lot for him to say on a topic they rarely tried to define—especially Starsky. He didn’t want to push too hard; he wasn’t even sure he wanted to push at all, but for the first time he allowed himself to acknowledge that he didn’t agree with Starsky about what their sex life meant. And, more importantly, for the first time he acknowledged they might never be in the same place.

Hutch was shocked to realize how much that hurt. He couldn’t be honest about that, but there was one thing he could be honest about with this man and no one else.

“Starsky, _we_ might not be gay, but I’m pretty sure _I’m_ bisexual _._

Starsky dropped Hutch’s hand and grabbed his face, starring at him intensely. “Listen to me. Bisexual people have about as much luck at work or anywhere else as gay people do. Being bisexual means somethin’ different than threesomes or swinging does. People don’t understand it, so _you_ better understand that you’re not bisexual!”

Hutch didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, but that seemed to satisfy Starsky because he dropped his hands and resumed a relaxed position. “It’s probably been too long since both of us had a steady girlfriend,” Starsky said. “I haven’t had one since Helen.”

“I was married to the last steady girlfriend I had; remember how well that worked out?” Hutch reached for his ice tea, suddenly desperately thirsty. “I don’t _want_ a steady girlfriend. I like keeping my relationships with women casual. I don’t lie to them and let them think I’m after anything else but the pleasure of their company and their body for a weekend or two. I’m not looking for more than that.”

“Hey,” Starsky said, “far be it for me to say that a hot weekend with a hot chick isn’t a very good thing, but don’t you think something—someone—more…permanent would be nice, too? Someone you could practice all your recipes on and give your special backrubs to? Someone to go to sleep with at night and wake up with in the morning.”

Hutch knew Starsky wouldn’t deliberately hurt him for anything, and yet he was hurting him so badly. _Someone to go to sleep with at night and to wake up with in the morning._ He wished he could turn his brain off for five minutes. His thoughts were raising his blood pressure; he felt antsy, and in deep need for _something_.

Starsky was right about one thing: _We've got all this love for each other…._

“You should think about it, partner. You’re more overdue than I am,” Starsky said, with a tone Hutch recognized as his readiness to bring an uncomfortable conversation to a close. “We should work on that… and now, do you think we could cut out this serious talk? Between you and Dobey my head is spinning and I’d really like to eat a tuna sandwich with a whole lot of potato chips and see what’s on day-time television.”

“On a Tuesday afternoon? There won’t be anything on but soap operas and game shows,” Hutch said, and then in spite of himself, or maybe because his heart was hurting so much it left him with no other choice, he slid to his knees and moved between Starsky’s legs. “I have a better idea.” Hutch put his hands, his slightly shaking hands, on each of Starsky’s knees. “A much better idea, because I think you’re really hungry for something else. I know I am.”

“Hutch… Come on, whatcha doing? We were just talking about getting ourselves girlfriends and you want to do _this_ now?” Starsky looked and sounded confused but he stayed still and Hutch noted he wasn’t being pushed away. Yet.

Hutch was starting to feel something close to panic inside. If he got up now, if he abandoned this need pulsing inside him…if they ate the stupid tuna sandwiches and turned the TV on, Starsky might not ever understand. He might not ever really get it. Hutch swallowed the panic and tried again. “What? I thought you liked it when I get on my knees for you.” Hutch pushed Starsky’s knees apart firmly. “I know I love to _be_ on my knees for you. It’s especially nice when you’re sitting, like now. Then I can see your face while I’m taking your cock out.” Hutch slowly lowered the zipper on Starsky’s jeans. “I can watch your expressions while I play with you—get you all ready for my mouth.”

“Ah, geez, Hutch…now? You really want to… _damn_ …” Hutch looked up at the change in Starsky’s tone, and saw Starsky’s face flush and watched as those heavy-lidded eyes opened and closed several times. He was battling his feelings, Hutch knew that, but he also knew that Starsky wanted this…he could _see_ it, and if Hutch was wrong about that then nothing would ever make sense again… _We have all this love for each other_.

Hutch reached into Starsky’s open fly and ran his index finger over the still soft, cotton-covered cock until he reached the tip. He rubbed little circles over and over until Starsky’s cock twitched and started to fill. “Yeah, I really want to. I really need to,” Hutch said, and reached lower to tickle Starsky’s balls. “Don’t you want me to be on my knees for you? Making you hard? Making you come?” He cupped the covered testicles and lightly squeezed. “Do you want me to stop? If you do, tell me now.”

Starsky groaned and tugged at his open waistband. “No. No, you’ve got the key in my ignition…don’t stop.”

Hutch nodded and smiled up at Starsky. “Take your hands off your waistband and lift your ass so I can take these jeans off.”

“Yeah, yeah…good idea, take ’em off.”

Starsky cooperated fully as Hutch reached behind him to pull the jeans off his butt first and to massage the luscious globes that made up one of Starsky’s best assets. He left Starsky’s underwear in place, but the pants were off in moments and tossed aside. Then Hutch took his time to just revel.

“Best looking guy on the planet—that’s my partner," Hutch said. "No one else can even come close. Best eyes, best smile…best ass…and these thighs,” Hutch moved his hands to Starsky’s firm, muscular thighs. “So masculine, so strong.” Hutch caressed them on the outside, slowly, limiting his pressure but keeping it above a tickle, then moved to Starsky’s sensitive inner thighs and lingered. “Best legs…they always make me hot when they’re bare like this and I’m stroking you.”

“That’s nice, Hutch,” Starsky said, his voice low and husky now. “Real nice, but you can stroke even higher if you want. You can touch me everywhere.”

Hutch was running his thumbs under the elastic band of Starsky’s blue bikini underwear, right where thigh met groin, right where it could drive a man to moan. When Starsky did, Hutch lowered his head and nuzzled Starsky’s hard dick with his nose and mouth, using his teeth to nibble the sensitive underside.

“Oh, man, Hutch, take ’em off, too. Wanna feel your tongue right on me…your mouth….”

Hutch looked up again and gave Starsky a toothy smile. “And you wanted to eat tuna…all I want to eat is you.” He was still looking straight at Starsky when he pulled the underwear down to Starsky’s thighs, exposing his cock and balls to the cool air. “You want my mouth? Tell me again…let me hear it.”

“I want your mouth, Hutch…please. I want your gorgeous mouth!”

“Then you’re going to have it. I’m gonna stay on my knees, right here between your legs--the legs you’ve spread wide just for me—and I’m gonna take your sweet cock in my mouth and suck.”

Starsky writhed and rubbed his hands over his chest, lingering over his shirt-covered nipples—nipples Hutch knew were taut and erect. He waited, calling on every bit of patience he possessed.

“Do it, Hutch…now, please, do it now…your mouth….”

Hutch gripped Starsky at the base and steadied his cock before he lowered his mouth and took the head inside. He started with a strong sucking motion, one that hollowed Hutch’s cheeks and caused Starsky’s glans to swell more and his cock to reach its maximum size. Dimly, he heard Starsky groan again, and then Starsky’s hands were on either side of Hutch’s head, and Hutch felt his hair being stroked. He sucked and tongued—knowing he was also making sounds, sounds he couldn’t put a name to—just like he could never name this feeling, this emotion that came over him whenever he performed this particular act for this man he loved so much.

_…because we love each other so much…_ And Hutch knew he wasn't alone in his feelings. Starsky loved him back.

Hutch was so engaged in taking Starsky to the sky, that he didn’t know if seconds or minutes were passing by. All he knew was the sweet taste of Starsky in his mouth and the feel of his tight balls under his hand. This was Hutch’s heaven and he never wanted to leave it. Outside this apartment the world raged and seethed with violence and hatred and bigotry and soon they’d be out there again fighting it together. They would keep trying to make their corner of the world a better place, a less violent place, and some days they’d fail and some days they’d win...but all of that was outside the door. Here, inside, in his heaven, Hutch only wanted to focus on one thing.

“Babe…Hutch…real close…” Starsky’s hands were moving quickly in Hutch’s hair now. “I’m real, real close, pull off.”

Hutch shook his head slightly and redoubled his efforts, wanting a grand explosion, the best he was capable of delivering, and he wanted it to happen inside his mouth and down his throat. He wanted every sweet drop.

“Hutch!” Starsky cried out, and then it was happening, Starsky was climaxing and Hutch took it all and silently begged for more, wanting it to never stop.

Starsky dropped back against the couch, breathing heavily for a few seconds while Hutch continued to hold his softening cock in his mouth.

“Think I’m done, babe. I think you did me real, real good. Thank you.” Starsky’s voice was still husky and he sounded as fulfilled as Hutch had hoped he would be. It was what he'd set out to achieve. “You can let me go now.”

Reluctantly, Hutch let Starsky’s cock slip out of his mouth as he laid his head on Starsky’s thigh.

“You gave us both quite a workout, partner, and you’re all sweaty,” Starsky said. “One of us should probably move and get some towels, and since you’ve turned me into jelly, it should probably be you.”

Hutch’s heart was returning to its normal rhythm, even though he could feel that his own cock was hard and demanding. Somehow, he didn’t care about that, though, and he nodded at Starsky. “I’ll go,” he said. “But before I do I want you to know that no matter what you think or what you want to believe, I _am_ bisexual.”

Hutch ignored Starsky’s open-mouthed stare as he got to his feet to find some towels.


End file.
